Suicidal Tendencies
by messenger394
Summary: Jaime struggles between his love for Brienne and his sense of duty where Cersei is concerned. Follows canon through the end of 8x04 before becoming a fix-it fic for 8x05.


Jaime Lannister never thought he would live this long. He always assumed that his own suicidal tendencies to run head first into danger would get him killed, and he was fully counting on his own death during the battle with the wights. He never planned to be in this situation. He never wanted to be forced to choose.

Yet, here he is.

He's sitting in Winterfell, of all places, during a celebration feast for a war they just won against the undead. It's all rather absurd when he really stops to think about it. It all feels even crazier every time he looks at the woman sitting across from him. She's beautiful, bruised, and alive. She's more than he could ever hope to deserve.

But far away in King's Landing is the woman he left behind. His sister, the mother of his children, and the love of his life. Or so he thought.

During the lonely ride to Winterfell Jaime had a lot to think about. Cersei, death, Brienne, white walkers, Brienne, his poor life decisions, Cersei, Brienne. They rotated on a loop in his brain for the entire journey.

When he walked away from King's Landing he made a decision, one that involved leaving the only woman he'd ever loved and his unborn child. Part of him was furious with Cersei for being so self-involved that she seemed to be unaware of the danger the entirety of Westeros was facing. He supposed she saw herself so above everyone else in the land that she was above the danger as well.

Another part of him was angry at himself. Angry that he stayed by her side for so long. That he had stayed even after she'd done the unthinkable by destroying the sept. He should have left her a long time ago. He should have left when he met Brienne. When she taught him that there is more to knighthood than a bunch of assholes just masquerading as honorable men with sharp sticks.

He had lived as two halves of a whole for far too long. There was the Jaime Lannister who wanted to be honorable, and who wanted to be honorable for her. Then there was the Jaime Lannister who was nothing more than his sister's lapdog, and who would do anything she asked, no matter how dishonorable. Those two pieces of himself have battled for a long time now, and as much as he likes to think that battles been won, it hasn't.

He still thinks of Cersei, and that innocent unborn baby in her belly. Sometimes he misses her. Other times he wishes she were dead. He can't even begin to comprehend how he can sit here across from this woman and still think fondly of the horrible monster he left behind.

Jaime looks at her again now. She's the only reason he's sitting here. The one person who has given him both so much hope, and so many reasons to hate himself. She is so honorable. He will never be able to hold a candle to her. He's done so many wrongs in his life that he doesn't feel like any amount of rights can make up for them, no matter how many times she tells him otherwise.

The Brienne sitting across from him now is one he's never seen before. Usually, she's grim and unsmiling. Forever, burdened down by her never-ending oaths and the futility of war. This Brienne is happy and glowing with the hint of brazenness that comes with the wine. Every time she smiles it chips away at the ice Cersei put in his heart.

He's thought she was beautiful for some time now, but that smile is almost too much beauty for his still aching chest to handle.

The clink and clatter of silverware and plates surround them as they play their little drinking game. With every round, they get a little more intoxicated. Every sip nicks at that self-hatred. Every look from her makes him that little bit braver, or maybe that's the wine. He likes to believe it's her.

Jaime thinks back to how exactly he wound up in this situation. It all started with a conversation he'd had with Tyrion, not even days before. For some reason, it always seems to be conversations with Tyrion that get him into these types of situations.

_Shortly after being knighted, Brienne had retired to her room to try and get some sleep before the battle. Upon her insistence, Pod had followed looking sullen. It wasn't much longer before Ser Davos and Tormund left as well leaving the room to the two brothers once again. They sat in companionable silence for a short while before it was broken by Tyrion._

_"Why don't you just tell her you love her?" He asked._

_Jaime cut his brother a look out of the corner of his eye. "What?"_

_"Ser Brienne." When Jaime just continues to stare, Tyrion sighs loudly. "You've been wandering around mooning over her since you got here. I doubt that there is a single living person in all of Winterfell that isn't aware of your feelings besides the lady herself."_

_Jaime turns his gaze to the fire, and after a moment replies, "She deserves a better man."_

_The pitying look that appears on Tyrion's face vaguely makes Jaime want to vomit up his wine. He hates sympathy, especially when he doesn't deserve it._

_"She deserves a man better than one who fights for the living, keeps his oaths, and is the only reason his imp of a brother is still alive? I think you do yourself a disservice."_

_"That same man has spent his entire life sleeping with his twin sister and doing horrible things for her like pushing little boys out of tower windows." He takes another sip of wine."Plus that man only has one hand." _

_Tyrion sighs once again. "Have you ever considered that maybe she doesn't want someone better? Perhaps you should tell her how you feel, and let her decide for herself."_

_"If we survive this battle then I will consider it." Jaime replies, not at all serious about considering it. In just a few short hours he expected to be blissfully dead._

_"I'm going to hold you to that big brother." Tyrion says with a grin._

This was Tyrion's brilliant way of holding him to it.

He knew deep down that the game was a terrible idea. He knew what Tyrion's intentions were and he knew they could only end badly for her.

But he went along with it anyway. Perhaps it was because she looked so happy for the first time in the many years he's known her. Perhaps it was because his resolution to stay away was crumbling further with every sip of wine that slipped down his throat.

He was having so much genuine fun that it was easy to forget it all, Cersei, the baby, the war.

Then Tyrion really went in for the kill.

"You're a virgin." Jaime watches as the happiness slips off of her face like a poorly placed mask. It's replaced with the self-hatred that often mirrors his own.

As Pod chugs his own wine to try and hide his reaction Jaime tries to save her, "That's a statement, about the present."

It doesn't do any good. That awful turn of her mouth is still there. It only gets worse when his brother just can't keep his mouth shut. "At no point in the past up until this very moment have you slept with a man..." and because he couldn't even just leave it there, "or a woman." The horrible look on her face makes Jaime wish he could just melt into the floorboards. He can't believe he's taking part in something that is obviously hurting her.

Some moments Jaime feels like he could kill his brother. This is one of those times.

Brienne's look of self-hatred turns to one of vaguely concealed anger as she stands up and proclaims, "I have to piss."

It's something he never thought he'd hear come from her, and despite what just happened ruining his mood a bit it nearly startles a laugh out of him.

Then the wildling shows up and his humor completely dissipates.

No matter how many times Brienne makes it abundantly clear that she's not interested in Tormund Giantsbane, his flirtations never fail to get under Jaime's skin.

The other man is obviously already drunk. He goes on about the war before stopping right in front of Brienne and looking over the rest of the group. "Now which one of you cowards shit in my pants."

None of them feel the need to grace this comment with a response.

"Please pardon me for a moment," Brienne says dismissively, pushing her way around the wildling. When she brushes Tormund off it sends a rush of pleasure through Jaime.

As Tormund goes to follow her, he takes the opportunity to assert himself into the situation. He blocks the wildlings path, and with a slight terse nod and a pat on the shoulder, he follows Brienne instead.

His palms start to sweat as he follows her. He would never say it out loud, but he's incredibly nervous. His feelings for her have been culminating somewhere deep down for years. Just because he's only recently come to acknowledge them doesn't make it any less true.

Those nerves come to a pinnacle halfway to her room. He stops dead in his tracks and realizes he' not drunk enough for this.

Jaime Lannister has run head first at a dragon. He jumped into a bear pit with one hand and no weapon. He has volunteered himself for certain death more times than he can count. At this point, he has no fear of death. However, he does fear confronting his feelings for the woman he loves. Granted, he's positive it's a terrible idea, but the smile on her face earlier woke something inside of him. The wine he's already had is making it even harder to resist.

He doubles back to grab a pitcher of wine and two cups. On the way to her room once again he downs, even more, to further take the edge off.

When he reaches her door, he still can't bring himself to knock. He paces back and forth and back and forth. Finally, he gathers enough courage to pound on the door. In his inebriated state, he may knock a few too many times, but perhaps she won't notice.

As soon as the door cracks open he barges in. "You didn't drink."

"I didn't drink?" She replies, astounded.

"In the game."

"I drank."

"In the game." Now he's just repeating himself. He truly is terrible at this. Fortunately for everyone involved he never had to try very hard to seduce Cersei. "This is Dornish." He pours two very full glasses of wine.

He shoves one of them into her hands. "This is not the game. This is only drinking." Brienne still sounds as deeply confused as he feels.

"Suit yourself." He says as she takes a large sip of the wine. He assumes it's because she isn't sober enough to deal with him either.

A fire is blazing in the hearth and the room feels stifling. He was already sweating before he knocked on her door. Now he feels like he's back in the heat of the South. "You keep it warm enough in here."

Her eyes follow his every move as he heads toward the bed. "It's the first thing I learned when I came to the North. Keep your fire going. Every time you leave the room, put more wood on." She says as he wrestles to get his jacket off before throwing it on the floor.

"That's very diligent. Very responsible." He can't seem to keep the mildly mocking tone he reserves just for her out of his voice.

"Oh, piss off." She says in the same tone.

"You know the first thing I learned in the North? I hate the fucking North." With every syllable, he moves closer to her.

"It grows on you." She says.

"I don't want things growing on me." The last time something grew on him he wound up in this situation. Torn in two.

Then his jealousy from earlier rises up again. "How about Tormund Giantsbane? Has he grown on you? He was very sad when you left." He pours himself another cup of wine, and some of it sloshes out of the cup to land on the table. They both ignore it. They're too focused on one another to care.

She just stares at him contemplatively for a moment. "You sound quite jealous."

"I do, don't I?" He is absolutely jealous, and he is fully aware of this fact. He's not sure she needed to know that, but he blames it on the wine.

"It's bloody hot in here." He says, pulling at his shirt collar. He's still sweltering, but he's not sure whether it's from the fire or her gaze this time.

She watches him fiddle with the strings of his shirt for a moment, and after he starts trying to undo the knot with his teeth she takes pity on him. "Oh, move aside." She nimbly gets it untied just as he reaches over to her shirt and starts attempting to untie it. He's not sure why he thought this was a good idea, considering he couldn't even get his own undone, but it seems to work.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking your shirt off." She just stares him right in the eye for a moment before pushing his hand aside and undoing her own shirt. The entire time he can't take his eyes off of her face. The firelight dances across her bruised skin, and it makes her even more beautiful.

Before taking her own shirt off, she goes back to removing his and pulls it over his head. His shirt lands on the floor, and seconds later hers follows it.

For a moment they just stare into each other's eyes. He still can't seem to tear his gaze away from her face.

"I've never slept with a knight before." He says.

"I've never slept with anyone before." She mimics.

"Then you have to drink. Those are the rules."

As she starts to say something back, he can't hold it in any longer. He finally rushes forward and onto the tips of his toes to press their lips together. For half a moment, she's too shocked to respond, but once she does it's a hot and heavy battle that is being fought between them, just like it always been. One moment he's in control, and then she is in the next. This time, instead of swords and steel, it's lips and teeth. He matches every lunge with a riposte. He's never been fond of war, but this one he could fight for a lifetime.

Her pale, battle-scarred skin sears his hands, but he can't seem to stop touching her. They start out on her neck and in her hair before traveling down to skim her breasts and muscled stomach before coming to a stop at her waist. He finally rips his mouth from hers slowing their combat.

He uses this as an opportunity to start untying the strings on her breeches, and she once again bats his hand away. As soon as they're off, he slowly starts to lead her backward, pressing hard kisses to her neck the entire time. When he backs of her knees hit the mattress, he brings their lips together passionately once more.

* * *

Jaime lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. He can't seem to bring himself to sleep. His mind won't stop racing.

The wine has begun to wear off, and everything has finally started to weigh on him.

What did he just do? What did he just bring her into? There's a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that won't go away. He wishes he could take it back, but that's not going to happen.

Not because he doesn't love her. Never that. It's how much he loves her that makes this so difficult.

He hasn't said the words out loud to her yet. Some things don't need to be said. It was obvious as he pressed butterfly kisses down her spine. In the way he made slow sweet meandering love to her. It was how he held her afterward like he was a drowning man and she was his only hope for making it to shore.

He's a torn man. Half of him lies to his left, and the other half is with his family. She deserves more than half a man. He would give her the world if he could, but how can a man with one hand ever give her something he can't even hold? Especially when he can't even give her all of himself.

He knows he's going to hurt her. He's saved her from being raped, and he's saved her from a bear. It's a shame the one thing he can't seem to save her from is himself.


End file.
